


Covet of the Wolf

by scribeofmorpheus



Series: Aligned in Syzygy [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Does Derek have a 'sir' kink? maybe..., Domestic Bliss, F/F, F/M, Gen, Headcannon Robert Sheehan and his amazing aura as sexually fluid Caleb Quinn, Horror, Mystery, NSFW, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, gay wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribeofmorpheus/pseuds/scribeofmorpheus
Summary: It’s Autumn and everyone in the Markolf family is busy with the preparations of Esme and Maggie’s upcoming nuptials. It should be a happy affair, even Caleb made the trip down from Ireland, but there is a dark cloud looming beyond the horizon. A cold wind blows in from the East, carrying with it a sickly, bitter scent. Crows spiral in the sky, news of locust swarms and unpredictable weather sweep across the globe - a dark foreboding omen. Derek fears Alyster’s last words may have been a premonition of a greater evil to come, and now that he bears the mark of a Venatores, he believes he may be the only one left who can stop the First Coming and reforge the Order of Sagittarius -the very order he and his pack had destroyed.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Original Female Character(s), Derek Hale/Reader, Esmerelda Markolf/Maggie Quinn, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, The Pack (Teen Wolf) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Aligned in Syzygy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1468609
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

## Prologue

**Fulufjället Mountain, Sweden**

The climb up the mountain had been torture for Isaac’s heightened wolf senses. With every step forward, the wolf snarled, threatening to bare its razor-sharp teeth in protest. Something foul in the air carried the stench of decay and rot. The scent was so strong he could taste it in the back of his throat. It tickled, and not in an innocent way. It was like having a follicle of cat hair prick against the sensitive flesh of his oesophagus. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. There was a high pitch tone resounding through the stale air that sounded more and more like a shrill shriek the closer he got to it. His eardrums vibrated violently causing blood to drip out and clot around his ear lobes.

Isaac stopped in his tracks when the overstimulation of his senses became too much. He shut his eyes and covered his ears to try and carve out one small moment of peace.

A hand patted against his back with the familiar touch of fatherly concern. “Are you alright?” Chris Argent asked with worry present in his voice.

“No,” Isaac winced.

“Maybe you should head back…” Chris suggested.

Isaac shook his head roughly, but the piercing shriek and retch-inducing smell still persisted. “No. We’re almost to the top.”

Isaac sniffled and then coughed from inhaling too much of the hydrogen sulphide coating the air. At the angle the sun was at, he could have sworn he saw a haze of green vapour stagnate close to the ground. Chris hadn’t mentioned anything, and his nose wasn’t as red as Isaac’s which meant humans couldn’t sense whatever it was that was polluting the mountainside.

The climb was harrowing and Isaac slowed his climb because of the painful bombardment of his senses. When he finally reached the top, he had ruptured an eardrum and there were red markings on his nose from incessant scratching. The shrieking was so loud, Isaac was convinced the incorporeal voice had a vendetta against his ability to hear. It was almost like the earth itself was screaming.

Chris was standing next to a waning tree covered in sticky, black mould that would have passed for thick syrup. The tree trunks had shrivelled to the point that they sagged like grapevines without horizontal trellises supporting them. The trees bough seeped black tree sap, and the root systems had all but rotted to the consistency of mushy, boiled yams. The sap was the source of the smell.

“Is that it?” Isaac asked, one hand shielding his nose and mouth. “I imagined it bigger.”

Chris held his hand out but refrained from touching the trunk, “It’s exactly where Stiles said it would be, but it looks…”

“Dead,” Isaac said.

Chris looked unsettled, almost afraid, “Nematon’s are powerful sources of magic. For one to be reduced to _this_ …”

It was worrying that Chris couldn’t seem to finish a sentence. To distract from the sore vibrations quaking his other eardrum apart, Isaac used his wolf-eyes to search the area. He looked closer at the roots and noticed what appeared to be a tunnel on the other side of the tree. It was too big to have been dug by an animal.

As he crouched closer to the tunnel, his nose suddenly picked up on a new smell previously hidden beneath all the more potent ones. There was something distinctly odd about it. The smell almost seemed to resemble that of new cells, akin to the kind that would form when a wound healed. It was coming from a dirty rag peeking out from the entrance of the tunnel. Isaac pulled it out from under the root it was caught under and careened his head back when a nail fell away from the thread of cloth it had snagged onto.

“Ehh, gross,” he swallowed the bile in his throat further down and held the rag far from his nose.

That got Chris’s attention, “What is it?”

“A nail. I think it’s human.”

Chris raised a quizzical brow, “You think?”

Isaac rubbed his nose with his palm, “There are too many smells.”

Chris crouched next to the tunnel, examining the soil like an archaeologist at a dig site. “This doesn’t look like it was formed naturally. I think something crawled out of here.” He picked up the human nail and turned it this way and that. “Correction. I think _someone_ crawled out of here.”

Chris shrugged his rucksack off and pulled out two ziploc plastic bags and placed the nail in one and the rag in the other. Then, after storing them in a rainproof compartment, he pulled out two camping shovels and a head-torch. He handed one off to Isaac before unfolding his and planting it into the ground to remove a heap of loose soil.

“I guess we’re digging,” Isaac wise-cracked.

“What the hell?” Isaac said, completely gobsmacked, as he stared down at a cracked open sarcophagus with runic symbols etched over the lid below an engraving of a hand clutching a broken arrow towards what looked like three stars, and around the edges was an etching of something written in Latin. “That’s a sarcophagus.”

“It would seem,” Chris said bluntly.

“What is a sarcophagus doing buried on a mountain top in _Sweden_?”

“That’s a good question,” Chris pulled out his camera and started taking pictures.

Finally, Isaac’s other ear gave out, succumbing to the vibrations and rupturing. He hissed in agony. Chris tried to reach for him but was shocked by something on the horizon. Just then, a dark shadow crept over the mountain, blocking the sun. Chris shouted something at Isaac but he couldn’t hear. Then the sky started to rain silken rocks of black that splattered red and smelt of blood when they hit the ground.

Chris hunkered low and covered his face with his hands. Isaac looked up and saw a spiralling flock of frenzied crows that plummeted to their deaths at his feet.

Whatever it was that crawled out of that sarcophagus had driven the birds crazy and leeched the life from one of the oldest Nematon’s in existence. Isaac had a terrible feeling about all this.


	2. Impending Nuptuals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes on an errand.  
> Y/N has a strange encounter at the clinic.  
> And Deaton notices strange happenings with the animals.  
> Then...unexpectedly, an unwelcomed guest shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this took me much longer than expected. It's a slow start and a bulky chapter.  
> I haven't proofread because I am exhausted, but here it is, the long-awaited first chapter.  
> Also Caleb is basically Robert Sheehan's character from Misfits, except more grounded. lmfaooo.  
>  **Warnings:** NSFW (mild). Swearing.

Autumn’s fog receded with the night, leaving frost on the windows.

“Ahh…” a soft gasp left your lips.

Your eyes lingered on the hazy sunrise warming the loft.

The delicious gleam of sweat from your working bodies sparked shocks of electricity in your brain. _This,_ you thought as Derek raked at your neck with just enough pressure from his sharp teeth to elicit excitement. _This is the only way to wake up on a Sunday._

You shuddered, wrapping your legs around Derek’s midriff. He kissed your earlobe gently as you moved slowly, in synch, and beautifully intertwined. Every now and again, his eyes would flicker between their intense blue and charming green.

He whispered in his gruff morning voice: “Do you know what I love about waking up?”

You hummed in pleasure, chest sending vibrations to his. You trailed your hand over his back, where scarred flesh marred the spot where his tattoo was once whole. Moving lower between the shoulder blades to rest at the mark on his arm that was hiding behind bandages. Derek always covered it up. It had become a habit to hide it. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t irk you sometimes.

You bit your lip in a cheeky smile, “I do. But I love hearing it.”

“Knowing that the only place I _need_ to be is right here,” he kissed your nose. “With you.” He kissed your left cheek and bucked his hips. “In _our_ space.” He kissed your other cheek and relaxed. “In the moment.”

He laced his fingers with yours, an anchor for his rocking body. You whimpered against his ear: “And I love you.”

And then stars, intangible, white-hot stars. The morning’s climax, the day-start euphoria of life together, took hold. Passionately.

When you hopped out of the shower, Derek had already set the coffee machine on and stuffed the sheets in the loud washing machine –currently groaning during its spin cycle.

You grabbed a slice of toast from the breadboard, “You _really_ need to get a new washer.”

“And I will,” he kissed your temple. “Once you move in.”

“Not this again,” you rolled your eyes, “Are you going to hold the washing machine hostage until I say yes?”

“Yes,” Derek zipped around his loft in search of something, a cocky smile on his face. “Have you seen my keys?”

“Check under the cushions,” you took another bite of your toast while you poured coffee into a mug.

“Bingo!” He shoved his keys in his pockets. Today was one of the rare days he wasn’t in dark jeans. Come to think of it, Derek’s wardrobe had gotten considerably more vibrant since moving back to Beacon Hills. Slacks in beige and white. A pair of shorts for the summer. And he even owned a pair of Hawaiian shirts, though those had been a gift from Maggie as an inside joke.

The washing machine’s loud whirring stopped, followed by two beeps. Derek walked over to turn off the cycle.

“All I’m saying is, wouldn’t you rather not have a washing machine that’s loud enough to wake the dead?” You cocked an eyebrow.

You could have sworn you saw him gaze at something in an empty spot of the room. Then he opened the hatch, his jaw working over at the mention of the dead. As expected, water spilled on the floor. He cursed.

You chuckled, “Or one that drains properly?”

“I would, yes,” he said over his shoulder as he mopped up the puddle. “That’s why I want you to move in with me.”

“Derek,” you whined, not in the mood for this conversation again.

He shrugged as he walked over, “I still don’t see the point of both of us having to pay rent separately.”

You laughed, “You don’t pay rent. You own the building.”

He snaked his arms around your waist and stole a bite of your toast, “All I’m saying is…” he nuzzled your neck and inhaled. “I miss you when you don’t sleep over.”

“I’m here practically five days of the week.”

“See, you _practically_ live here.”

You shoved him playfully, he didn’t budge. “You should hurry and get going if you want to beat traffic.”

He groaned, holding you tighter. “I miss you already.”

You laughed and shoved him again, this time he budged. “Go or you’ll be late to the barn raising. She said all hands on deck. That includes you, broody boy.”

“I can’t believe Maggie insisted on having an entire barn built for the wedding,” he stole another bite of your toast. “I can’t decide if that’s crazy or…romantic.”

“Do you know if Peter’s coming to the wedding yet?” The room went awkwardly silent for a beat. Derek shook his head and scratched at his bandage. His eyes darted to that empty part of the loft, jaw clenching as if holding back words. After a controlled breath, he looked way.

No one had heard from Peter in months. The last trail before his disappearance was a weird phone call from a very distressed meditation instructor in Kathmandu who talked about birds swirling in the sky and bad omens and a repair bill for a damaged paper wall. After that…nothing.

Derek made it a point not to stick his nose in any more weird happenstance. He called it ‘ _tempting fate.’_ He preferred the normalcy of your lives now, the consistency it brought. That’s partly why you were afraid to tell him that being a normal couple that lived a normal life could be a little… well, boring.

Derek liked boring. Boring meant safe. And you could respect his desire to feel safe. Not too long ago, you wanted nothing more than a boring, normal life. But after everything that transpired a few months ago, you started to crave a little adventure now and again.

You brushed a hair away from Derek’s forehead. This was the longest you’d ever seen his hair. “I’m really worried about him.”

Derek scoffed, “About Peter? Don’t be. Disappearing is practically a past time of his.”

You placed a hand on Derek’s bandage, “But he has the mark too, maybe it’s linked to th—”

“It’s not,” Derek snapped, but calmly. “It’s just an unimportant symbol. It doesn’t mean anything. The hunters are gone and Peter is probably in some fancy bar racking up a hefty tab. That’s it.”

You sighed, “I know you have nightmares.”

“So do you,” he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“The difference is, my love,” you caressed his cheek. “I talk about mine.”

He pulled way but tried not to be too obvious, “You’re right. The jewellers close early during weekends anyway. I should go if I want to beat traffic on the way.”

Derek turned the key in the ignition. The car came to life with a subtle whirr. He held onto the steering wheel tightly. He hated leaving like that, but if he didn’t leave then, he would’ve given away more than he wanted to.

Alyster materialised in the passenger seat. His reflection not picked up by the rear-view mirrors.

“She’s right you know,” Alyster spoke low, tired. “Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away.”

Derek clenched his jaw, putting the car into gear, “It’s worked so far.”

Alyster hummed, “Just because you can’t see something coming, doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

Derek slammed his hand on the steering wheel, “It’s been months! Your _First Coming,_ or Second Coming, or whatever ominous name you call it, hasn’t shown up. And from my experience, trouble only comes a-knocking if you look for _it._ ”

Alyster closed his eyes as a gust of wind passed through the open windows. Derek’s hair moved with the wind, Alyster’s did not. The dead immortal seemed sad about that.

“Now,” Derek put on his glasses. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

Before he finished his sentence, Alyster was gone and Derek’s mind was his own again.

“So are you going to make it to the wedding?” You looked over at your computer screen where a video-chat window displayed Scott sitting at a desk with a large textbook. “I hear Styles' is bringing a date. I may finally get to meet the famous _Lydia Martin_ he always talks about.”

“I don’t think I’ll have the time,” he said with regret. “I have a very important paper due on controlling and limiting the spread of viral diseases in wildlife reserves. I’ve barely slept a wink all week.”

You finished with your paperwork and shoved it into a drawer, moving onto taking inventory while you multitasked. “I wrote one or two papers that were published in a journal around that topic. Mostly dealt with wolves. I may have a pdf copy on my laptop, want me to send it over?”

Scott yawned, eyes drooping, “More reading. _Great._ ”

You shot him a flashy smile, “Hey, you play your cards right and you’ll get one of these for a fee.” You tugged at your white coat’s collar.

“The dream,” he said nonchalantly.

_Ding!_

The new customer bell Deaton installed went off. You set the clipboard down.

“Just a second,” you said loud enough to be heard in the front. Then you quickly turned to face Scott: “I’ve got a customer. Talk later. And get some sleep.”

“Later,” the video chat ended.

You walked to the front of the clinic and saw a distraught man holding a wet and shivering Beagle puppy. 

“I need your help,” the man said with worry and large eyes. “I found her by the creek near the woods."

The man handed you the dog, his skin felt icy. Your fingers brushed his for the briefest moment and a shudder crept through your bones.

 _Strange,_ you thought.

“Creek?” you were unfamiliar of there being a creek in Beacon Hills, but you decided not to think too hard on it. The dog needed your attention more desperately. “What’s her name?” you asked as you examined her on the slab.

“N-name? Uh…” the man fidgeted, looking around for an answer. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. Human, definitely human eyes. But strikingly blue. Cold. “Sh-she’s not my dog.”

“Well, then… she’d lucky you came along,” You wrapped the dog in a thermal blanket. “First things first, I’ll have to get her temperature up. Then see if there are any after effect from the shock. She may have to stay the night for observation…but.”

“But?”

You nudged your head in the direction of the sign plastered on the entrance, “The clinic is closing up for the week. Personal reasons.”

“L-listen, I’ll pay for the expenses, but I can’t look after her myself,” he stared at the dog in an odd way. “I have things to attend to.” His vibrato shifted, sounding more serious.

You swallowed, unable to get a read on the customer, “Alright, that’s fine, just leave your name and contact details with me and I’ll contact you.”

“My contact details?” He hesitated for a second, thinking something over. Then he fished out his wallet and placed a business card on the counter.

Once you were done examining the pup, you turned to give your full attention to the man, but he was gone. He wasn’t in the waiting room either. You returned to the back and cleaned up, removing your surgical gloves with a satisfying smack.

When you went to wash your hands, no water came out of the faucet. The metal had a strange frosty layer over it. You touched it and instantly pulled your hand back. The entire tap was frozen over.

“What the--?” you frowned.

The puppy whimpered from its cage, fur turning silky as it dried. You noticed then that the dog never had that wet-dog smell.

Deaton arrived just as closing hours rolled over. He held a take away box of doughnuts as an apology for bailing on work hours.

“I got your favourite,” he announced as he pulled the door open and retreated from the rain.

“Damn, I didn’t pack any rain gear,” you clicked your tongue. “Forecast said there was only going to be strong winds for the next few days.”

Beacon Hill’s, and for the most part many other parts of the world, had been experiencing weird weather phenomena. Hail in deserts, locust migrations travelling further than was normal, dry lightning spells. It wasn’t doomsday levels of strange, but there was a pattern forming if you knew what to look for.

Deaton set the doughnuts down, his eyes catching the business card from earlier. He looked at it suspiciously. “Sander’s Ranch had some freak lightning storms too, that’s why I was late getting back from Career’s Day. Two of his cows exhibited strange behaviour prior to the storm he said. His neighbour’s also complained about a pest problem.”

“More bugs?”

“No. Crows. Nearly a hundred of them. Just sitting on the ground.”

You twirled a strand of hair in thought, “On the ground? That is weird.”

“It gets weirder,” Deaton reached into his bag to pull out his digital camera.

Your eyes went wide at the sight of a whole murder of crows, seated on top of ploughed gravel, perfectly forming a double spiral; a sign of spiritual awakening. The concurrence of the physical world with the spiritual realm.

“It…could just be a whacky coincidence,” you tried to alleviate the tension in the room. Deaton didn’t buy it. He then noticed the dog in the cage. She was more active, that was a good sign. “New customer?” He kneeled next to the pup. Hand stretched out harmlessly. The puppy responded by licking his palms.

You grabbed a doughnut from the box, “Yes, and she’s coming with us. No owner. I already checked her for a chip. Nada. Was brought here by a good Samaritan.”

“Would that business card belong to said good Samaritan?”

“Yeah, good guess.”

“Or a bad one.”

“What?” you looked over the business card: THOMAS MILTON. MANAGER. MILTON CONSTRUCTION COMPANY.

“The company, _Milton Co.,_ it was a construction company that went bankrupt nearly a decade ago. Possibly longer,” Deaton said, his tone unsure. The memory was undoubtedly old, though still poignant.

“Why?”

“A series of drownings at a reservoir that was being constructed. Company was held liable for not putting up warning signs. The town sued the company. Company lost.” Deaton looked back at the dog, gaze distant. “I remember one of the victims. She was in high-school. Wanted to be a vet. Met her during Career’s Week too. She owned a Beagle.”

You looked at the dog and then at Deaton, goosebumps travelling up your arms.

“Hey, Deaton,” you knew you were going to regret asking this. “Is there a creek in the woods?”

“A creek?” Deaton was still staring at the dripping faucet. “No. There was a lake, but it dried up because of the reservoir. Why?”

You swallowed, “No reason.”

You and Deaton had been on the road with no stops for four hours by the time you got to the winding road leading to the Homestead.

You rolled down the window and let the pine fresh breeze fill the small space.

A howl sounded off in the dense woods. Another reverberated back from the opposite side. The puppy in the back tried to match octave for octave but fell short because of its smaller larynx. You smiled.

“Guess they know we’re here,” Deaton said as he took the final bend, switching the headlights to dim.

The entire plot looked different. Fairy lights were strung up on along the outer bannisters and railings of the second-floor balcony, twinkling with soft light. The shed and cabin on the far end of the property had been repainted white. The newly constructed barn wasn’t red and white as you’d first pictured in your mind. The wood was sanded down, varnished and unpainted. The natural browns and reds gave it a rustic look. Several potted plants that used to line the entrance of the main house were placed in front of the barn’s entrance. An unmounted chandelier, upcycled from an old wooden wheel, was fitted with seven candlestick holders. There were two medium tents set up beside the barn, probably for the bar and food buffet areas. 

“Maggie really did go all out,” you remarked as you grabbed your duffle bag filled with a week’s worth of clothes from the trunk.

“She’s done an amazing job. I’m quite looking forward to a wedding. Haven’t been to one in…” Deaton’s mind trailed, unable to find an answer. He then grabbed the dog’s carrier cage from the back seat.

“Y/N!” Jonah shouted after you as he crushed you in a warm, suffocating hug. Your legs dangled off the ground as he spun around. His voice had changed, it had grown deeper, unfamiliar. He was also bigger, no longer scrawny and tall. Now he was built like concrete and tall. Esme’s training had worked too well.

“Hnngg…Jonah, I can’t breathe,” you tapped his back.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” He set you down immediately, an apologetic look on his face. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Markus took over my training from Esme since the wedding preparations started –Which by the way, I painted the entire shed by myself. I’m pretty sure they made me do it because I was too hyper to handle the smaller things. Broke a couple of flower pots and accidentally crushed two sets of fairy lights before mom gave me painting duty. I fell asleep once, doing the back wall, and if you look at it during the day, you can see an imprint of my shoulders.–Anyway, like I was saying…” He scratched at his hair now, his sandy curls cut shot till they no longer spiralled.

You noticed Jonah spoke slower too. Calmer. Which for Jonah, just meant regular people excited.

“You were talking about how you ended up roughly the size of a tree,” you poked fun. Jonah took our bags from you.

“Oh, right!” his eyes lit up. “Basically– Oh, hi, Deaton! Sorry, rude of me. Please don’t tell Maggs I forgot my manners, she’s already in a mood ever since Caleb got here. I mean… _I know_ siblings fight. I rough house with Esme when we fight over the last steak, but _those two?_ ” Mid ramble, Jonah noticed Deaton carrying something. “Need a--” Jonah stilled, nose lifted higher in the air. Then his pupils went large and he dropped your bags with no hesitation. You heard your makeup bag let out a rattling noise.

“A puppy?” Jonah’s pupils went large as he sprinted to Deaton’s side. “A puppy!”

You made your way up to the house, leaving Deaton in the fully occupied hands of Jonah, who was cradling the puppy like a baby. Your mother gave you a hug and helped you take your bags to your room. Derek had arrived hours earlier so all his belongings were scattered all over your room. Your dad made it a point to grumble under his breath about not being too thrilled the two of you were sharing a room. Your mum chased him off to go pretend to smoke his cigars in secret.

A knock sounded behind you. It was Esme. She was sporting short, sleeked back hair. It was dyed black.

“Finally decided to go: Carrie-Anne Moss, huh?” you said. “Suits you.”

Esme shrugged, hands in her front pockets, “The wedding stress drove both of us to the scissors. Which reminds me, if you see Maggs, don’t comment on the new hair colour. Caleb is already driving her insane.”

“Caleb’s here?” You didn’t know how to feel about that. It had been years since you last saw him, you wondered if your dynamic would still be the same. You brushed that factoid aside, “No hug for your sister? And I haven’t seen Markus around.”

“Markus drove to the airport, won’t be back till morning most like,” Esme dragged her feet as she made her way to give you a weak hug, “I missed you, squirt. Your boyfriend, not so much.”

You looked at her, completely puzzled, “What did Derek do?”

“He keeps stealing my fiancé’s attention. You know how Maggs is about tall, dark, broody, muscular men. She gets all…” Your sister wiggled her fingers trying to find the best descriptive.

“Flirty?” you chuckled.

“Yeah,” your sister sunk into the bed, defeated. “It doesn’t help that your refusing to move in with him has become the one talking point between the two. Might as well be the ones getting married tomorrow if they love spending so much time together.” Esme pouted like a moody teenager. She was jealous. You’d rarely ever seen your sister jealous.

You sat beside her on the bed.

“Just move in with him so he’ll shut up about it and I can have my fiancé back,” Esme shook your arm, whining even louder.

You sighed, “I want to, believe me.”

“But?” Your sister sat upright.

“I feel like he’s holding back. Sometimes he can be in the same room and…not be…present. He pretends not to have nightmares too. I think he thinks he’s protecting me or trying not to worry me or maybe he thinks I don't hear him in the middle of the night. But I do worry. And I do hear him.”

“Ohhh,” Esme slapped your knee. “You think he’s hiding something.”

“It’s not just that…” you stalled, feeling a blush of embarrassment deepen the colour of your cheeks. “Did things between you and Maggs change when you… _you know,_ said the thing?”

“Thing? You mean ‘I love you’?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded.

Esme chuckled, “He hasn’t said _it_ yet, has he?”

You shook your head, “He shows it with little things. Like the fact he gets up really early some days to buy my favourite breakfast muffins—”

“Breakfast muffins, eh?” Esme teasingly squished your love handles. “That explains these.”

You tutted, “Stop.”

“Well, I’m the absolute worst person to ask,” Esme played with the engagement ring on her hand. “Maggs actually told me she loved me on our first date.”

You eyed your sister in surprise, “The picnic at the farmers market? That date?”

“No, that’s the story we’re gonna tell everyone was our first date, as a sweet anecdote for the reception,” Esme smirked, a gleam in her eyes. “Our _first_ , first date was at a rodeo, believe it or not. Maggs was being Maggs, flirting with every shirtless man in a cowboy hat. I was…myself. Eventually, we found ourselves at a local watering hole, Maggs got absolutely defeated by tequila shots. I held her hair in the bathroom while she threw up. Then she told me she loved me.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Why not? Because we weren’t dating then?”

“Yes. No. I dunno. Maybe?”

“All I’m saying is,” Esme pinched your chin. “Love is like that spaghetti trick. You throw it onto the ceiling until it sticks. When and how it sticks doesn’t always align with what we envision. When Maggs told me she loved me, she was drunk as a skunk and didn’t remember it the next day. And I simply laughed it off. Now look at me, I’m moping in my sister's room because her boyfriend won’t leave my fiancé alone.” Esme fake cried.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “Fine, I’ll go get your fiancé back for you.”

“I love you,” Esme sing-songed jokingly. “They’re at the barn.”

Derek was working over a light fixture in the barn. The bulb kept flickering on and off. He cursed under his breath. He tilted his head to the side, keen eyes picking up on your approach.

He dropped what he was doing, and before you could say a word, his lips crashed over yours in a hungry kiss. His strong arms pressed to flush to his body and he angled his jaw to the side so your noses wouldn’t bump as his tongue ravished yours. When the kiss ended, you both took a second to reorient yourselves.

“I missed you,” he smiled a cheeky smile, all too proud of seeing how much his kiss affected you.

“Wow. I noticed,” you cleared your throat.

Derek licked his lips, eyes hungry for more.

Something around his neck caught your eye, it was new. “What’s this?” you asked as you ran your fingers over the large ring with a leather cord threaded through it. It looked antique, slightly gaudy.

“Ah, _that_ is my mother’s ring,” He said, his voice shaky. “I had a few stones reset and the band cleaned when I went to pick up the rings.”

“Rings?” You asked. Heart skipping a beat. “I thought only Maggie’s ring needed to be resized for the wedding.”

Derek’s mouth hung open, then he coughed and ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, that’s true, but I—I had to pick up my mother’s ring too, so technically, two rings.” He shuffled awkwardly.

Maggie’s tell-tale click of loud bangles and chunky heels announced her arrival. Derek froze.

“Hey, hon, I found the cutest little box in my crafts room for the—” Maggie stopped herself when she finally saw you. “Y/N! Oh, deary, why didn’t anyone tell me you’d arrived? I—I’m flustered.” She quickly hid the small box she’d been holding in her hand in the pocket of her maxi-dress.

You squinted your eyes, “You guys are plotting something aren’t you?”

Derek shook his head with a comical frown and Maggie waved her arms about.

“Derek, w-why- why…” Maggie cleared her throat. “Have you fixed the light switch?”

Derek sighed, it sounded like relief, “Nope. Not yet. Almost got it.”

“Good. Great. Fantastic,” Maggie looked around in search of what to say. Suddenly, out of the blue, Caleb walked in, wearing a sleeveless band t-shirt in autumn, carrying a vase with an assortment of orange and white flowers.

“Your vase, your majesty,” he placed the vase on the table and wiped his chest of any water droplets. Caleb’s accent was stronger than Maggie’s but not as strong as it had been the last time you were together. “Ah, if it isn’t the beguiling Y/N,” Caleb winked in that flirty yet sarcastic nature he had. “Lovely to see you again.”

Caleb was Maggie’s younger brother. They shared the same forehead, wiry eyes and height, but that was about all they had in common. Caleb had a smaller frame than Maggie’s, much like how Jonah had been before he bulked up. His ringlets were loose and dark, a muddy brown which complimented his thin nose and sharp chin. Right now he wore it half in a bun, no doubt so he could display his earrings proudly. His eyebrows were as thick and dark as Derek’s, but his eyes were grounded, a mellow brown –which contrasted his eccentric and comically performative personality.

“Caleb,” you nodded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since I gave you a bloody nose in that pub in New Hampshire.”

Caleb snapped his fingers, the many rings he wore complimented their long, slender shape. The Quinn siblings had an eye for shiny and gold. “Ah, the best of times. Those really were my golden years.”

Derek furrowed his brow, “You gave him a bloody nose?”

“That she did,” Maggie winked in approval. “And she was right to.”

Derek huffed in amusement when he looked over at Caleb, “What’d you do?”

Caleb held his hand to his chest, “Now why’d you go speculating that it was _I_ that did the something wrong?”

“Because he met you,” Maggie retorted.

“I kissed her,” Caleb admitted freely, ignoring Maggie’s jab.

“He kissed me,” You responded simultaneously.

You smirked and Caleb beamed like a smug bastard.

Derek arched a brow at the two of you.

Caleb put his hands up lazily, “It was purely platonic, I assure you.”

“You right baboon,” Maggie snorted, her Irish lilt growing stronger, “If that kiss was platonic, I don’t want to be your sister.”

“Tough titties Magpie, mom and dad can’t unscramble these eggs,” he pointed between them as if they came as a set. “And you forget: if I’m a baboon then what are _you_? Because, if I’m not mistaken, they haven’t legalised werewolf-baboon interspecies marriages yet.”

“Lord give me strength so I don’t send you straight off to Gammie and Pops before Mom and Dad,” Maggie pressed her palms together in what looked to be sincere prayer.

“Yeah, well if Gammie were alive, she’d agree with me that the floral arrangement doesn’t match your box-dye job,” He waved his hands next to Maggie’s cherry wine coloured fringe. “I mean, _a box-dye,_ with no strand test before your wedding? Really?”

“And this is why you had no friends in school.”

Caleb was enjoying himself far too much. You watched the siblings bicker on continuously while Derek stared on in amazement, having to hold back several laughs.

You leaned over to whisper in Derek’s ear, “Want to get out of here?”

Derek mouthed a very enthusiastic, “Yes.”

The two of you snuck away, Maggie and Caleb thoroughly engaged in there tet-a-tet. Caleb must have said something he shouldn’t have because Maggie was now marching after him with only one shoe on. The other shoe had been thrown at Caleb.

“Caleb McLoughlin Bowden-Quinn! You best not make me chase after yer if you hope to god I don’t put Nair in your dandy smelling eco-shampoo!” Maggie shouted after him.

You giggled, a feeling of youth and joy spreading through the atmosphere.

Derek twined his fingers with yours, a curious look in his eye, “So… you and Caleb?”

You bit your inner cheek to keep from smiling. Derek was obviously jealous.

“Mmm, me and Caleb?” You blinked, acting all innocent.

“You’re gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“You two ever… _you know_ , date?”

You burst out laughing, “Date is a strong word. We, uh…we flirted with the idea, sure. Only once though. When we were younger. _Much_ younger.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair again, “I see.”

You stopped him in his tracks and locked your arms around his neck. Getting up on your tippy-toes, you peppered his face in loud kisses. Derek held back but his scowl was wiped away in no time.

“I love _you_ , silly,” you reassured him.

Derek held his breath. The look in his eyes was captivating, making your heart race. He opened his mouth, and for an instant, you thought now might be the moment. The moment he whispers…

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said, his voice coming off huskier. Before you could question him, he started walking in the direction of the woods.

The meadow looked different at night. The half-moon cast just the right amount of light to cast a glow over the dewy flower petals. It was serene here, peaceful. Then a particularly blush inducing memory came to mind. Derek, shirtless, doing one handed push-ups. The kiss, hot and heavy and full of need. Your fluster. The delicious burn of intimacy.

“So this is where you wanted to bring me?” You ran a hand across a tree bough. Then you turned and pointed to the clearing where Derek had been working out that day you kissed. “I remember you were shirtless, being all broody. Working up a sweat.” You bit your lip at the exciting memory.

Derek smirked as he pulled off his shirt, “How about we work up a little sweat?”

“Is this the reason you brought me up here, _Sir_?” You tugged on your shirt buttons playfully.

Derek swallowed, hard. His Adam’s apple bobbing at the sound of you calling him _Sir_. “How else would I get to have my way with you?” His eyes turned their wolfish blue as he reached for his zipper.

You gasped, the air turning thick, heady. Derek slowly lowered your body onto the cushion of flowers. You shuddered, the flowers held moisture from the evening's mist.

You mewled in protest, lip pouting, “Derek, that’s cold. My clothes are gonna get wet.”

He titled his head to the side, hand slipping under your waistband, “That’s the whole idea.”

You twitched, body burning with his touch, muscles shaking in response. You wanted more. He could see it in your face. He licked his lips and anchored himself between your legs.

“You can moan, no one will hear you,” he promised.

You twitched again and let out a moan. You heard Derek growl in approval.

Derek held you close, trailing his fingertips across your exposed back all the way to your thighs and back.

You were spent, eyelids growing heavy. You played with the ring hanging from his neck.

Derek was drifting too, comfortable with the smell of trees and earth and you. He mumbled without thinking on his words, “If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?”

You sat up on your elbow, thinking on his question, “No.”

He looked at the spot where his mark was. He seemed hurt, wounded. “Is it because of this?”

“No,” you stroked his cheek. _It’s because of so many things,_ you thought.

“It’s because of your washing machine.” You answered tongue in cheek.

Derek didn’t find your answer funny. “Christ, Y/N…” He clenched his jaw and got dressed in a hurry.

You scrambled to get dressed. Holding back another moan when you felt some of him spill out of you under your panties. Derek stilled as well then continued with his long strides once you righted yourself.

“Are you mad at me right now?” You said accusingly.

“I was trying to have a serious conversation with you and you just—”

“Oh, don’t even pull that shit on me. I’ve been trying to get you to open up since we got back to Beacon Hills.”

“Ahhh!” Derek clenched his arm, nails turning to claws as they grazed the cotton bandage.

“Derek!” you rushed over to his side, the argument lost to the wind. “What is it, baby?”

Derek’s eyes skittered into a dark patch of woods, a frown pulling at his eyebrows. A sinister darkness lingering on his next words, “Peter.”

Someone stepped out from the shadows, “Hello, lovers.”

**To be continued…**


	3. After the Bells Toll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't proofread entirely. There may be a few discrepancies. Enjoy and sorry the update took longer than expected.

**~  
**

“Peter,” Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.

The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, “Hello, lovers.”

It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that weren’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wide—unsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.

You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your little—or perhaps big—argument was shelved to the back of your mind.

Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasn’t at all how you’d pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.

“What?” Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. “I was invited.”

Derek snatched the card, “This is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?”

“Can’t break in if you know where the key is,” Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. “Best go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.” He tilted his head at you.

“Peter,” you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.

Derek grabbed Peter’s elbow, “What are you _really_ doing here, Peter.”

Peter shrugged then winked, “It’s like I said. I’m just here for a wedding.”

The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.

An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derek’s voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: “You alright in there?” He wanted to make up. “I got towels.”

You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, “Come in.”

He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact. When he spotted the stack of towels, he smirked and placed his on the folding table an arm's length away

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he ran his hand through his hair, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. “I guess being here, with all the… I just forgot what it was like.”

“What _what_ was like?”

“Being around family…feeling like a part of one.”

You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not saying no. I just don’t think we should be thinking about marriage when we still don’t know the full effect of the mark.”

You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you—”

Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, “Of course it bothers me. It itches a little.” He smiled warmly.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I meant. If the mark didn’t bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And don’t tell me it’s always been that way…You avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that he’s here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?”

Derek shrugged, “It’s Peter.”

“Derek,” you sighed.

“Okay, I just…He never shows up out of the blue for no reason.”

“Maybe he missed you.”

Derek huffed, “I’m sure he did.”

You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, “I know if I didn’t get to see your handsome face for a long time, I’d be _really,_ really lonely.”

Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.

Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadn’t been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.

Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained. The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didn’t drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markus’s room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.

“Stiles,” you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. “I thought you were bringing Lydia?”

Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, “I am, she’s just going to be a couple thousand miles away.”

You shook your head, “And they say romance is dead.”

“I’ll just go set this up in the barn quickly,” he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.

Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasn’t. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derek’s habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.

If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.

You couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.

Out of nowhere, Derek’s warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: “Green is definitely your colour.”

You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. “We should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.”

“Hmmm,” he leaned in and kissed you. “You’re hard to forget. Especially today.”

The first bell tolled.

You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, “Come, we should get to our places.”

The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esme’s right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.

Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.

The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you weren’t used to.

Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.

“Peter,” you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.

“Don’t you look radiant today,” he sipped whiskey.

“Where’d you get that?”

“You’re family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.”

You leaned close to whisper, “We aren’t supposed to steal from Dad’s cabinet.”

“Well,” Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You noticed he wasn’t wearing a bandage to hide his mark.

“You want to see it?” Peter raised a brow.

“What?”

“The mark.”

You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didn’t know why.

“Yes,” you nodded.

Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still—no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. You’d seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.

 _The crows from Deaton’s photograph,_ you realised. A double spiral.

You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached out…

Without warning, everyone’s heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didn’t react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.

“Right on cue,” Peter took his final drink of whiskey.

Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peter’s skull.

Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, “You’re gonna need that.”

“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyone’s attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.

“I may have run into some trouble,” Peter shrugged. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed a little help.”

“So you led them here?” Derek moved quick, suddenly Peter’s shirt was bunched up in Derek’s fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Stiles asked the room.

Derek hissed, letting go of Peter’s shirt to grab his arm.

“It’s the order…” you whispered in realisation.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: “I thought they weren’t a problem anymore.”

Peter frowned as if innocent, “See, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephew’s brain. And Astrid tells me it’s a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. I—I may have overestimated my…ability to handle things and…well now I’m here.”

Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, “So you used my wedding as bait?”

Esme grabbed Maggie’s hand as if to hold her back.

“Safety in numbers,” Peter winked.

The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour you’d only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, “Isaac.”

You didn’t care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Caleb’s side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.

The ringing in Derek's ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.

The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.

Derek’s heart beat rapidly. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?

Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didn’t take his hand.

Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Caleb’s gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself you’d never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping brides—one out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peter’s hand. All this happened _because_ of him.

Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.

This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.

Standing beside him, unseen by all, was Alyster.

Dead Alyster living in Derek’s mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.

“Today was meant to be a happy day,” Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derek’s consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alyster’s face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. “It would have been. If you had listened.”

Blood meandered from Derek’s nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peter’s hand.

Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.

Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasn’t. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldn’t focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.

Peter dropped the head. It didn’t land with a squelching sound. It didn’t land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Derek was panting, his words wheezy.

“You should have answered my calls,” Peter’s face was glistening with sweat. “Jerk.”

Peter’s nose bled too. He didn’t seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.

A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.

Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.

And it was by their hand. Again.


	4. Repercussions

~

Derek had been ranting in the corner of your room since he came to. Frustrated at Peter and the whole situation. But mostly frustrated at Peter.

The house had quieted down now. Esme had put Maggie to bed after two whole pots of valerian root tea and two half-burned lavender candles. The scent had meandered its way into your room.

You hadn’t moved since Marcus and Isaac—as you came to learn his name thanks to Stiles—helped carry Derek into the room. Isaac had actually apologised. It was all he could think to do. He apologised over and over like it was a second language. You’d stayed staring at the wooden stake Peter had given Derek for most of the night.

Peter was in a guest room on the farthest side of the house with Stiles and a man named Chris. Just like your father's name. Except this man's name was short for Christopher, not Christian.

Everyone wanted to tear Peter a new one, but they were also exhausted from cleaning the blood off the floors and throwing out the flower arrangements in the barn.

Caleb was fully passed out on painkillers meant for dogs the last time you checked. Jonah and the puppy had stayed with him to keep watch. Jonah shivered most of the night after the attack. He ran the warmest among the rest of the werewolves. He wasn’t cold. He was in shock. Your mother watched over him.

Derek was pacing now, “This is why everyone hates Peter! Because he always pulls shit like this. Ever since I was a kid he just had to be the one to—”

“Peter said he talked to Astrid. How could he do that if she’s dead?” You looked up at Derek for the first time since he started rambling. He froze like he had been caught in a lie—in a secret. “He also said Alyster was ‘walking around’ in your brain.”

Derek looked at you desperately, as if he was watching you slip away from him. He rushed to your side. You wrapped your arms around your chest defensively. He saw that as a loud signal telling him to not come any closer. He balled his fists and clenched his jaw, but there was no anger in his actions.

“Is this what you’ve been keeping from me?” You asked softly, not in the mood to raise your voice or shout. The events of the reception had drained you too much to have any fight left.

Derek sniffled and right then you wondered if you had scrubbed your nails hard enough. If there wasn’t a trace of Caleb’s blood still under them.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Derek said.

“Worry me?” you huffed sarcastically. “All the good that did. I am worried. Maybe if you had told me earlier, if you had _trusted me,_ maybe I wouldn’t be so worried. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much…”

“I do trust you, baby,” his feet protested against his stillness. He wanted to move towards you. “More than anyone.”

“And yet you kept this from me,” you blinked several times, not wanting any tears to be shed. Enough tears had been shed today. “How could you ask me about marriage when you weren’t ready to tell me about…To tell me about anything.” You sighed. “When we got back to Beacon Hills, when you asked me to move in with you, I thought those were signs that you were ready to open up to me. But you didn’t. It was like you were still on that cross-country trip we took. Still moving away from something. And now I realise I barely know you.”

“You do know me. You do. I was just trying to prote—”

You held up a finger, “Don’t. Just don’t. This wasn’t about me. This is about you.”

He gave in, collapsing on the bed with a defeated sigh, “You’re right.” He held his head in his hands. “I was trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to admit there was anything wrong. I didn’t want you to look at me differently if you knew what the mark meant. I just wanted to be happy. Normal.”

“I come from a family of werewolves yet I can’t shift. My sister married a druid. You’re a werewolf. And the only family member you have left is two limbo bars shy of crazy. We are never going to be normal Derek.”

Derek touched the ring dangling around his neck, “He’s not the only family I have left.”

You looked up to the ceiling, not surprised there was more waiting to come out the woodwork.

“I have a niece, Malia.” He tried to smile. It didn’t come. “She’s a werecoyote.”

Had the situation been different, you might have laughed. You guessed that was his intention; to make you laugh, or at the very least to hear you laugh. You stayed silent.

“I’m not good at this,” Derek continued. “The family stuff, dating…trusting people. Letting them in. Letting them see me. Letting _you_ see me.”

“Are you afraid I won’t like what I see?”

“Yes. And no. The people I let in have a habit of dying around me…or turning on me. I never told you about the root cellar, did I?”

“No.”

“The first girl I—I ever…”

Your voice came out raspier than you intended, words weighing heavily on you: “Love?”

He looked up at you, there were tears in his eyes. Unshed, but shaking for release. He looked back down, his long hair covering the sides of his face. He nodded.

A pang of hurt ran through you. Suddenly your mouth went dry and blinking no longer helped keep your own tears back. You wiped them off before they could fall. It dawned on you that he never corrected ' _Love'_ to ' _Loved'_.

“Her name was Paige…” He held his hands tightly.

 _Paige,_ you thought. _The girl you love was named Paige._

Derek told you everything. The good. The bad. The uncomfortably blunt truths of his past. He told you about Kate and the Argents. About his weird metamorphosis into his true wolf form, something that happened thanks to Kate, again. He told you about him and Jennifer. Him and Braeden. It was a lot to take in. Your perception of him changed too. You couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or not. It was scary, learning there were more sides to the man you thought you knew so well.

When Derek had finished talking, he waited for you to say something. And even though the magnitude of what he told you was…incredibly large to swallow in one sitting, your mind kept going back to one thing: Paige.

“You still love Paige, don’t you?”

Derek frowned as though you asked him if the sun rose in the east, “She was my first love of course I—”

 _Is that why you can’t say it?_ You wondered. _Do you even love me?_

“Hey, hey, hey,” Derek reached out his hands to your face.

You pulled away and looked in the mirror, “Great. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

Derek looked at his hands as if they were a foreign part of him, changed in some way. Then he dropped them listlessly onto his thigh.

“Is he always present?” You changed the subject back to Derek. “Was he there when we were…”

“No, never!” He answered quickly. “Alyster comes and goes as he pleases, but usually he sticks to daylight hours. It’s like he knows when I’m…more likely to listen to him. Level headed, I mean.”

“The man who killed my ex-boyfriend is living in my current boyfriend’s mind.” You laughed, “Does he tell you to kill me when he pops up? Is he listening to us right now?”

Derek winced as if you had slapped him, “This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“You didn’t tell me a lot of things apparently.”

When you glanced back at Derek you realised you’d gone too far, been too harsh. The green of his eyes was so clear and pained. It was then that you noticed you felt anger towards him. That was the only way you could explain the fact you didn’t feel in the least bit bad for what you said. Even if it was harsh.

“I think its best if we sleep in separate rooms tonight,” was all you said as you turned away from Derek.

Derek didn’t say anything. His hands didn’t reach for you again. And he didn’t try to look you in the eye this time. When he closed the door behind him, you took the first real breath since the reception. Your head felt heavy and you didn’t know why. You got what you wanted, time alone, but why did it feel like you had lost all the same?

You looked at your reflection, anger shining through with the first light of dawn sneaking through the blinds.

“Did you want him to stay?” You asked your reflection. “Did you want him to fight to stay?”

 _Yes,_ your subconscious answered. _We wanted him to stay._


End file.
